


A Little Taste of...

by truc



Series: Superbatweek 2020 [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman (Comics)
Genre: Bruce can cook, Experiments, Fluff, Food, Food Porn, Friends to Lovers, Kryptonian's taste buds, M/M, No Angst, Non-sexual use of Blindfold, Sex, Well... initially, blindfold, superbatweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25624117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truc/pseuds/truc
Summary: The saying "the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach" has never been more true.Day 6 of the Superbatweek 2020, prompt: "Blindfold"
Relationships: Superman/Batman
Series: Superbatweek 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841941
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	A Little Taste of...

'Clark Kent looks good in red,' Bruce reflects as he ties the blindfold over his friend's eyes.

"Are you comfortable?" Bruce asks as he takes a step back to examine his masterpiece: Clark Kent sitting at a table, a blindfold covering his eyes.

Clark beams under his lead-laced blindfold and cracks his knuckles. "Let's get the show on the road!"

Bruce goes to his special chamber, the one Clark can't see through, and he brings back his items.

He pours soup from one of his custom made heated thermos into a bowl. He pushes it directly in front of Clark and adds a spoon.

"Kryptonian gustative experiment part 1," Bruce announces for his microphone. He also writes notes on his laptop. Clark tilts his head in his direction, asking for permission to proceed.

"Subject may proceed with the tasting of the first gustative sample," Bruce mechanically indicates. "Take the spoon on your left and taste the warm liquid located in a bowl in front of you."

Clark carefully proceeds to take a mouthful of soup and blows on it before putting it in his mouth (culturally motivated behaviour, Bruce mentally notes). Instead of slurping the soup, Clark takes his time with the mouthful of soup in his mouth before swallowing it.

His face lightens and, if Bruce could see his eyes, he is sure he would see them shine in delight.

"It's... wow, Bruce, this fish broth is genius. It's almost as if I'm laying on an oppressively humid beach sand in Eastern Asia, clothes clinging to my skin, and it's hard to breathe. Then, a fresh ocean breeze washes over me- not overpowering with the rotten fish smell- with a soft saltiness and delicate fish aftertaste."

Bruce blinks at the evocative description and glances at the fish broth he diligently prepared following a recommended recipe from Alfred. Clearing his throat, he reminds Clark of their purpose. "Clark, what are the ingredients?"

Reluctantly, Clark enumerates them: "Fish broth made from scratch with fish bones, heads included, water, vegetable oil, limes, ginger, clove a smash of peppercorn, thyme, cilantro and spearmint."

Bruce writes down Clark's ingredients, knowing Clark hadn't missed any ingredients. Quickly, Bruce prepares the next sample and switches the bowl with a plate and fork.

"Experiment two. Take the fork on your left. The plate is in front of you," Bruce instructs.

Clark obeys. He digs in the plate and takes a small bite, masticating it before letting fall down his throat, his Adam's apple swelling briefly with the swallowing movement.

Clark's lips pull upwards as if gravity had reversed its direction and, he was weightlessly floating in a happy dream. "It's sultry, sandy and dry. Yet, despite everything, the moon dances elegantly above the date palm trees, bigger, yellower than I thought possible. The spiciness mixes perfectly with the sweetness, bringing forth a world of exploding flavour, marinating in the perfectly detachable lamb pieces."

Bruce feels entranced with the perfect happiness disfiguring his best friend's face. It's hard to tear away from the sight without salivating- Bruce has never enjoyed food like Clark does, wholeheartedly and without brakes, yet, for once, he's looking forward to eating food.

Awkwardly, Clark's eagerness for food also reminds Bruce of his best sexual encounter ever.

Years ago, Bruce had slept with a 5 foot 3 mother of three on the plump end of the scale. Yet, she had had the same zeal for sex as Clark currently had for his food. She had exceeded Bruce's other sexual experiences, including paper-thin supermodels and their practiced noise and sneers or; with dominating and rough man fucking him against counters, his neck and ass feeling their handprints for days afterward in pleasant soreness, or; with strict doms dominating him, restricting him and punishing him until he broke or; with playful subs letting him micromanage them until they cried for release. That random woman had the same zeal that Clark is displaying for food.

Crossing his legs, Bruce tries to distract himself before the beginning of his arousal gets the better of him. He should not ask himself whether Clark's zeal for food would translate in bed. Friends don't ask that question to their best friends. Bad Brucie.

In the most monotone voice possible, Bruce asks, "Ingredients?"

Clark nods, his tongue darting to his lips to savour the last bit of pruned lamb juice. Bruce could not help feeling his mouth salivate. It was the food, he decides, just the food; salivating for food was a biological response emanating from prehistory, he reasons.

Bruce tries to focus on Clark's description of the meal instead of other bodily reactions. "Tender lamb, onions, cloves, ginger, pepper, saffron thread, turmeric, a cinnamon stick, butter, water, plum dates, honey and fried almonds."

Bruce duly writes the answer. Be clinical.

He opens his next dish, places a spoon beside it and switches the Tagine dish with it.

"The spoon is to your left," Bruce says, hoping his half-hardness will disappear before he has to remove his best friend's blindfold.

Again, Clark takes the spoon in hand and eats a piece of the meal. His mouth forms an o and his breathing hitches as he moans softly.

Damn it, Bruce thinks, Clark's performance isn't helping to wilt his arousal, to the contrary.

"Is it that good?" Bruce breathily asks while his tongue passes over his lips as he stares at the minuscule piece of apple stuck on Clark's lips.

"Mmmm... It's an eruption of colours, the brightest collection of fall colours you've ever seen, sweetly caramelized on the cascading perfect crunchy texture of a fall's last flight. It's clasping to the last hint of warmness before winter comes."

Bruce can't help say, "That's enough," as he pushes himself up and walks to Clark's side.

Clark tilts his head in Bruce's direction, almost as if he'd forgotten there is anyone else in the room.

Tilting Clark's chin up to face him, Bruce nervously thinks this is it. "It sounds exquisite," Bruce hoarsely comments," can I have a taste?"

The o form on Clark's lips becomes more pronounced before he leans forward and upwards, missing Bruce's mouth by an inch. If Bruce hadn't been as hungry as he was, he would have laughed at his best friend's clumsiness. As it were, he thrusts his mouth desperately forward to devour Clark's extremely sensual mouth and lickable lips.

His taste buds crave this sweet but intense flavour. Whether Bruce's Latvian's apple pancake was a masterpiece or Clark's mouth tasted that good on its own is a mystery Bruce plans to decode at a later time.

Now, he has more urgent matters to attend, namely getting rid of his demonstrated fondness for this heavenly meal, flowing below his stomach.

Still blindfolded, Clark's hands find his ass and press him forward, making Bruce tumble on Clark's sizzling lap.

That certainly answers whether Clark is as heated-up as he is.

Someone (presumably Clark) unwrap his burning _need_. Bruce growls into the strangely wholesome sweetness that is Clark's mouth.

He watches as Clark loosens his pants to grip his cock. Ravenous and parched, Bruce needs this more than anything, like he needs this to survive a moment more in the middle of the desert. Desperate, Bruce seizes both of their needy shafts and frictions them together, howling at the sensation.

Clark bites his neck. Or his shoulder. Truly, Bruce is too far gone to know the difference.

Both of them fuck Bruce's hands and, Bruce gorges himself on every bit of Clark's yummy reactions: from the fluttering of his lips to his slight shivers to his soft moanings to his heightened breathing to the sweaty skin.

After they, finally, fall in the explosion of savoury sensations, they are a trembling pile of nerves. Bruce removes Clark's blindfold. Somehow, Clark's even more delectable with his long eyelashes and his quenched eyes looking fondly at him.

They kiss again, softly this time.

Bruce says, "Seeing how you appear sated, we may need to postpone the rest of the experiment to another night."

Clark smiles. "Mmmm... Maybe we should have a group of control to whom we can compare my result."

Bruce's eyebrow quirks up. "What do you intend to do with me when I'm blindfolded?"

Clark licks his chin, looking through half-lidded eyes at his best friend. "Return the favour," he mouths off.

Bruce chuckles. "I look forward to that."

**Author's Note:**

> It's possible this fic is riddled with mistakes. I'm sorry if it is. I didn't have more time to revise it. It is what it is.


End file.
